


Stop Hitting Yourself

by persistent_pedantry



Series: The Escapades of Minerva and R [16]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2021-02-28 06:42:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22989538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/persistent_pedantry/pseuds/persistent_pedantry
Summary: With infinite dimensions comes infinite criminals, and infinite criminals means infinite Minervas. Palkia decided to reduce that infinity.
Series: The Escapades of Minerva and R [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1483421





	Stop Hitting Yourself

**Author's Note:**

> This was pretty much just an excuse to try out the Hunter M AU, where René died early on in Minerva's career. I wrote a little combat but ended up resorting to my old short phrase thing. I really do need to work on that.

_During teleportation, there is one simple factor needs to be focused on: where you end up. This sounds simple, of course, but issues can arise; splicing, migraines, and ending up where you’re not supposed to are the main ones. Currently, Minerva is trying to deal with the third issue to the best of her abilities, despite screwing herself over to impressive proportions._

_Let’s take a look._

Minerva is… somewhere. For a brief moment, she was certain that she could see the Prism Tower, but it disappeared before she could fully process it. Flashes of memories, of places, apparated to her: The Village, Snowpoint, Lumiose, Ilex Forest; place after place flickering around her. This place doesn’t seem awfully stable, nor decisive on what it is… unless it’s a lack of ‘what’.

“Well, shit.” After about a minute of wandering, Minerva had resigned to being booted out of existence, sitting down as the flashes of nostalgia begin to ebb. She did try to teleport with a lot of psychic interference around, so it’s always a deadly lottery when you do that; that doesn’t mean that she can’t get back, though. Probably. “Hey! Hey, Palkia! Are you around here?” She shouts (telepathically, naturally). Minerva had come across Palkia a few times before, given her frequent distortion of space with black holes and all; it would be wise to stop doing that, to stay on the God of Time’s good side. “Palkia, I’m pretty much stuck here. Can you help a sister out?”

“ _You are undeserving,_ ” a voice comes from nowhere.

“Oh, come on! Don’t pull that shit on me, you’re just as bad as me for causing spatial mayhem!”

“ _You speak dishonestly._ ”

“Really?” Minerva questions, getting up. “Didn’t you and your buddies almost destroy Mt. Moon with that whole Distortion Crisis, or whatever it’s called?”

A pause.

“ _Your actions undermine that. You have been a menace for many years._ ”

“And all you’ve ever done to stop that is to throw me and René into a bunch of parallel universes? Well, we survived those, unsurprisingly, so what else do you have? I’m unbeatable, dammit!”

 _“I have done what was deemed necessary. Your vitality was challenged, but here, it will be destroyed. You will fall._ ”

Minerva rolls her eyes, looking around the blank, white existence with a bored, let smug expression. “Since you’re clearly gagging to make a dramatic moment, I’ll bite: who, oh, who could possibly defeat me? You?”

“ _Yes._ ” With the simple word, a heavy burst of darkness erupts from behind Minerva, causing her to turn in alarm. Once the darkness settled, it was quite obvious that it’s not Palkia who would be facing her – it’s a Gardevoir.

“Oh, hey. It’s me,” Minerva says, unimpressed. “Am I that hot? Even got a cool scarf, too.”

“You are defined by your choices and their consequences, as all mortals are. The one you face hadn’t succeeded in her conquest, leaving her alone.”

The newly appeared Minerva was, at first glance, fairly similar to the one you and I know and tolerate. However, aside from the deep purple scarf resting around her neck, this Minerva was much more… austere. The energy exuding off of her was dark, filled with grief and ire to the point that her normally scarlet irises had long faded to a deeper crimson. She isn’t a murderous thief; she’s just a cold-blooded killer. The silence hangs heavy.

“My name is M,” the scarfed Gardevoir finally says, her voice devoid of the energy that Minerva’s flourishes with. “You killed my friend. Prepare to die.”

Minerva is sent crashing to the empty ground, M lowering her hand barely a foot from her.

“Yeesh, at least give me a second to warm up first,” Minerva complains, flickering to chop at M’s neck, being rewarded by a pushed way arm and a haymaker to the face for her troubles. Staggering back up, she glances at M’s fist: sheer black; quite the contrast to her magenta fingertips.

M disappears.

Minerva backsteps, smacking her in the back of the head with a smug grin. “C’mon, this is me you’re fighting. You—"

Her taunting is cut short by a swift kick to the side. She remains silent, adjusting her scarf.

Minerva, winded, flickers away, only to be caught and thrown to the ground again. “Ow,” Minerva grumbles, slowly getting back up. “So, how exactly did I kill Ren? I don’t even—"

M kicks at Minerva’s abdomen, grunting as her leg is caught and yanked, bringing them inches from each other. “Causality. As he died for me, he must be alive for you. If he died for you, he would still be with me.”

Minerva grips M’s forehead, her other hand gripping her throat. “That’s the most stupid fucking thing I’ve ever heard.” She tightens her grin, forcing agony through M’s mind.

“Quiet!” M snarls, yanking Minerva’s arm from its socket and vanishing away.

Minerva curses, haphazardly realigning the ball and socket as her hand soaks itself in psychic energy. “Fuck that, you’re fucking dead!”

Psychic is sent,

Shadow Ball is thrown;

Minerva jabs,

M punches;

Minerva flickers,

M disappears;

Minerva fights to win,

M fights to kill.

Being able to dish out damage is one thing but taking it while doing so is something else entirely. She was never taught to take hits since René never taught her to; though, her René probably never did the same, given how she’s unconscious and all.

“I suppose the best challenge you can get is yourself,” the Gardevoir says with a small hum. “So… what now?”

“ _You will be rewarded. Defeating oneself is the greatest task any one mortal can perform. State what you desire._ ”

Letting out a sigh, she holds her scarf as comfort from the aching pain in her mind. “Guess.”


End file.
